EPISODE SIXTY-FOUR
On Friday evening, as soon as she got home from work, Nicky ran upstairs to
shower and change. For once, she was
glad to be alone in the house. Her
mother was over at Nigel’s place, and Vanessa had gone away to stay with
friends in Canterbury. So Nicky felt relieved about not having to
explain to anyone about her date, the first she’d had in ages.
She had met Jason at a party more than three weeks ago, and he had asked for
her phone number. But when almost three weeks had gone by, she had wrongly
assumed that he wasn’t interested and was unlikely to hear from him again. Then last night, out of the blue, he had
called, apologising for not having been in touch due to pressure of work, and
asked her out to dinner. She found it
difficult to control her excitement, and throughout her day at work she
couldn’t stop thinking about him. Her
life had been so dull recently. Other
than all that business with Malcolm, and that was the sort of excitement she
could well do without.
After her shower, unable to make up her mind what to wear, she tried on three
different sets of clothes, and finally decided to wear the first thing she
thought of, a peppermint low cut top and white denims. She was admiring herself in the mirror when
the doorbell rang. She glanced at her
watch and frowned. Jason wasn’t due for
another hour. Panicking, she hurriedly
brushed her hair and sprayed perfume on her neck. Then, as the doorbell ran again insistently,
she rushed downstairs.
She was surprised to find two of them standing in the porch, holding up their identification,
as if this was a scene from some television crime drama. The older of the two, although he couldn’t
have been more than thirty-something, enquired,
‘Nicola Ingbarton?’
Puzzled, she nodded dumbly, wondering if this was something to do with her
date.
‘I’m detective sergeant Ryland, and this is detective constable Swade. I wonder if we could have a word with you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, in a small frightened voice. She took them into the living room and they
both sat next to each other on the two-seater sofa. The older one sat leaning slightly forward,
while the younger of the two leaned back and produced a notebook and pen from
his suit pocket. She sat in an armchair
immediately opposite them. The detective
sergeant cleared his throat before speaking.
‘Do you work for Instant First Insurance?’
Nicky nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve been there
about eighteen months. What’s this all
about?’
‘And how well do you know your work colleague Savita Kapoor?’
Nicky hesitated, sensing there was something very wrong. ‘I...er...I know her quite well. We’d become friends at work. We often had lunch together. Why?
What’s wrong?’
The sergeant exchanged a brief look with his colleague before answering. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Miss
Kapoor was found dead on Tunbridge Wells common this morning.’
Nicky felt something awful stirring inside her, like a hand clutching at her
heart. ‘But when...I mean how...’ she
began, uncertain of how she could express herself.
Realising she was at a loss, the detective decided he could be open with her. After all, she was hardly a suspect, just
someone who could help with their enquiries.
‘We think she was murdered. It looks
like she was strangled.’
Nicky could contain herself no longer, and she choked back the tears,
apologising to them for her reaction.
‘It’s OK,’ the detective told her, as he watched the tears streaming down her cheeks. ‘I’m just sorry to be the bearer of such
news. But we need to move quickly on
this one. Do you know her boyfriend by
any chance?’
Nicky nodded. ‘Does he know?’
‘Yes. Apparently he works for a travel
company, and he had left for the middle east, probably some time after she was
murdered.’
Horrified, Nicky wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, and said, ‘You
don’t think he had anything to do with it?’
‘We’ve managed to get in touch with him
and he’s on his way back. How well did
you know Miss Kapoor. Her background and
history, I mean?’
Nicky shrugged. ‘Well, I think she and her parents were born in this
country...’
‘But her boyfriend wasn’t Asian, was he?’
Nicky shook her head.
‘So was she on good terms with her family over her relationship with him?’
Suddenly, Nicky realised what the detective was driving at, and said, ‘I don’t think her family would have objected
to the relationship, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Were they Muslim?’
‘No, I think they were Catholic.’
‘Well, was there anyone else, in your opinion, that might have wanted her
dead?’
Nicky hesitated, and in her mind she could see Malcolm’s face looming like a
hideous beast of prey.
‘Miss Ingbarton?’ prompted the detective.
Then she told them about Malcolm. And
when she got to the bit about them setting up their boss to make him think they
were going to have a threesome, she could feel herself colouring, and she
couldn’t look at either of the detectives.
But she felt their eyes boring into her and the atmosphere was
electric. After a brief pause while they
digested this information, and she could hear the DC scribbling on his notepad,
the sergeant said:
‘What happened? Did she carry out her
threat and expose her boss?’
Tearfully, Nicky explained, ‘I didn’t want her to. Neither did Philip. And Philip thought it was dangerous,
destroying his career and his marriage.
He thought Malcolm would have nothing left to lose.’
The detective sergeant rose hurriedly, as did his colleague, snapping shut his
notebook.
‘Look, thanks for your help. We’d like
you to be of further assistance, but for now...’ He took out his mobile as he moved towards
the door. ‘We need to get over to the
victim’s boss’s house.’
*
Two squad cars and the detective inspector in charge of the case screeched to a
halt outside Malcolm’s house in Southborough.
After an urgent, insistent ringing of the doorbell, his wife opened the
door. When she saw the police, her eyes
widened in disbelief.
‘Mrs. Ellison. Is your husband home?’
‘He left, and he hasn’t come back. I
told him to go. Filthy animal. What’s happened to him?’
‘Any idea where he might have gone?’
She shook her head, and as she did, she noticed something a little way down the
street. ‘That’s his car. He’s parked it a little way down the street. Probably hoping I wouldn’t notice. He’s probably spent the night in his
bolthole.’
‘His bolthole.’
‘Yes, he built this outhouse from masses of old pallets. Often, if we had an argument, he’d spend the
night there.’
‘Mind if we take a look?’
‘Of course not.’
They traipsed through the house, out through the kitchen, and into the long,
narrow back garden. At the end of the
lawn were some apple trees, and behind these stood a large timber building with
several windows. As they neared the
shed, they could see the outline of a human form, a dark shadow through the
glass.
As the detective threw open the door, he said, ‘You’d better not come in Mrs.
Ellison. Quickly. Someone find a knife and cut him down.’
But they could all see that it was useless trying to revive him. The boss from
hell was dead.